


For Love and Family

by mm8



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, Infidelity, M/M, Makeup, Reunions, hair petting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-20
Updated: 2012-06-20
Packaged: 2017-11-08 05:27:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/439641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mm8/pseuds/mm8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a lot going on to induce a migraine in D.I. Greg Lestrade's life right now: a nasty divorce, work, and his ex-lover, Dr. John Watson showing up on his doorstep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Love and Family

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for a [Make Me A Monday](http://sherlockbbc.livejournal.com/3914723.html?thread=34178275#t34178275) prompt in which Lestrade has a migraine and only hair petting will make it better. Since I suffer from frequent migraines I found this intriguing. Many thanks to [miranda_askher](http://miranda-askher.livejournal.com/) and [luckychance](http://luckychance.livejournal.com/) for betaing.

Lestrade punched out and rushed out of the Yard as fast as he could, ignoring the glares and curious looks he received as he went by. As he jogged down the steps and walked through the crowded London street, he took a deep breath and shielded his eyes from the blaring sun. The air was crisp and the sun bright. To other bystanders this recent change in weather was probably a fresh breath of air since last week during the holidays it had been gloomy and snowing. Usually Lestrade would be with them, cheering on the warmer breeze and sunny sky. But not today. 

He stood on a corner and hailed a taxi. The cabbie had a thick accent that was hard to understand and, like Lestrade, was in a terrible mood. The man kept grumbling to himself about global warming, some legislation that was up for debate in Parliament and what he was going to bring home for dinner tonight. 

The Detective Inspector sent off a quick text off to his wife, --no, soon-to-be _ex_ -wife that he was ill and she'd have to pick up the kids from school. He gripped his mobile, his knuckles turning white. Or maybe that damned P.E. teacher would take them home instead. Whatever, it didn't matter anymore, did it? He took slow, deep breaths to calm himself. They had told the kids last week about finalizing the divorce. They were all old enough to understand the truth. There had been infidelity on both their parts. More his wife's than his. But according to her, his infidelity was worse since it was with…

Lestrade's mind wandered to a little over a year ago. God, was it really that long ago? It started with those serial suicides. John had called the case 'A Study in Pink' on his now famous blog. That's where he met John.

"Oi! Oi!" The cabbie shouted. "We're at your stop."

He paid his fare and hurried out of the taxi. Instead of following his usual routine of cheerfully greeting the doorman, having a five minute conversation with the old man who always sat by the elevators, and checking his mail, he ignored everything and rushed into the open lift. He practically growled at the young woman on the lift with him who was holding a drooling, snot-nosed baby that smiled at him.

The flickering florescent lights in the hallway were killing his head. The jiggling of his keys in the lock didn't help at all. When he entered his flat, he cursed himself for leaving all of the lights on. He felt like a rabbit on speed as he raced around turning off the lights while simultaneously taking off his coat and shoes. Greg sighed with relief as he relaxed on his sofa, his feet resting on the armrest. His head was throbbing. It was like every part of his brain was burning and in pain. It even reached the back of his eyeballs; how was that possible? He squeezed his eyes shut, and put his arm over his head, trying to block out any light. God, migraines were the worst.

His ears perked when he thought he heard a light _tap, tap_ at the door.

"Greg?" There was a slight pause. "Greg, it's me John. Are you alright? Can I come in?"

Greg waited, contemplating his options. He was in pain and comfort would be… amazing. Especially if it came from John. But wasn't John part of the problem? 

"Greg? Can you hear me? Should I just go?"

He cleared his throat. "Come in, John. You still have the spare key, don't you?"

His body tensed as he heard the clinking of keys, the scraping of the correct one going into the lock, and the harsh sound of the lock turning and becoming undone as John stepped across his threshold with the lightest of footsteps. 

"Why are all the lights off?" John asked. Greg could hear John toeing off his shoes near the door, as was his custom when he came into the flat.

"Migraine," he offered as a simple explanation. "Started earlier today and it won't go away."

Greg felt a slight dip near the end of the sofa where his legs were. "Is that why you left in such a hurry?"

The detective removed his arm from his face, letting it rest by his side. He got his first good look at John then. Despite having taken off his shoes, John still wore his brown coat. It was unzipped at the top so Greg could see that John was wearing a black and grey striped shirt. It was like he was uncomfortable being back in this flat. Or even shielding himself from something, with the jacket as his armor. John's fists kept clenching and unclenching, his knuckles white. He was slightly hunched over, leaned forward was more like it, very unlike his usual military posture. John's face was torn, however; there was confusion and pain written all over it. 

"How did you know I was here anyway?"

John shrugged and bit his lip. "We were finishing up some statements for some past cases and I— _Sherlock_ noticed you running off. Donovan said that you were leaving early. I excused myself and came by your flat. Sorry if that came across a little creepy. I was just concerned."

"No, it's alright. It's always alright…" He turned his face into the sofa cushions. 

There was a moment before John said anything. "Is there anything I can do to help? Do you have any medication or--?"

"No, none." Greg quickly replied. "I don't get these enough to rely on any sort of medication." He chewed on his lower lip. "But there is one thing that might help."

"What?" The doctor's voice was eager. 

Greg lifted his head, looking up at him. "Could you… run your hands through my hair?" He blushed. "I know it sounds silly, but it's relaxing when I get like this. You don't have to," His voice rose slightly. "After all I've done to you, you don't owe me a thing."

Greg was stunned when John leaned down and chastely kissed his knuckles of his hand. The detective noticed that John didn't seem so tense anymore. 

"Where would you like me to sit, Greg?"

Silently, they resituated themselves; John's back was leaning against an armrest, while Greg's head lay in his lap, their legs entwined. John ran his calloused but talented fingers through Greg's silver hair. Greg suppressed a groan. He always had enjoyed John's touch, and this was no exception.

"Am I doing this okay?" 

He smiled contently. "Oh yes. I'm feeling better already."

They were silent. Greg could feel the intensity of the migraine lessening each time John's expert fingers touched his scalp. He let himself relax and melt into the other man's body. He had missed _this_. 

God, John smelled so good, so masculine.

"What's gotten you so worked up today?" John's voice was so soft and soothing. It seemed so far away.

"Maybe the divorce. We're signing the papers to finalize it soon. We finally told the kids the _real_ reason a few days ago and you can imagine how well that went. "

"I'm sorry, Greg." Honesty filled John's voice. 

"I'm sorry too," he admitted. "I should never have left you."

John briefly stopped stroking his hair, his hand stalled in midair. "What are you saying?"

Greg stared up into John's open face. "That I haven't stopped loving you." He gave a yawn. "You mind if I sleep a little? My migraine is easing off a bit." He waited until John nodded, and immediately drifted off.

He dreamt of knights and kings. Love and betrayal. And tea. Lots of tea.

When he woke up the room was darker than before, possibly indicating that it was now night. His neck ached from the position it had been in for hours. Greg blinked a few times and realized three things: his head wasn't pounding anymore, he was lying on someone's lap and this certain someone was petting his hair. He shifted, his gaze wondering up to John, who looked back at him tenderly. Then it all flooded back to him.

The doctor smiled. "Morning, sunshine. How are you feeling?"

"Better." Greg shifted so his body was curled against John's. He inhaled. "Much better."

"The last time we spoke," John whispered, "the last time we spoke before you called it off, you told me that what we had was just a _fling_."

Greg flinched at the memory. "I didn't mean it. It never was that." He grasped John's other hand and squeezed. "You were the only male lover I have ever had, John. And besides my wife, the only person I have ever loved so deeply that I would give anything, _anything_ for." Greg exhaled. "When I said that, my _ex_ -wife knew about our relationship and knew how I felt about you. She knew that I was going to ask… well that's not important now. She had just had a nasty break-up herself and wanted to try again. And when she found out about us, she threatened divorce. Which I told her I didn't care; I was starting on the paperwork anyway. But," he bit his lip. "She threatened to take my children away from me, John. That she'd have full custody. _Never_ let me see them again. I know it was blackmail and it seems foolish now. But then, I thought, what can I do?" He let out a pathetic laugh. "There's a first time for everything, I suppose. Maybe this is something everyone has to deal with. Blackmail and betrayal. But I highly doubt it." 

Greg was surprised when John cupped his cheek, caressed it with his thumb, then leaned down and kissed his lips. God, John's lips were so sweet. He'd be craving this for weeks.

When John parted, he hovered inches above Greg's face, there were tears streaming down his cheeks. "You are the bravest man I know, Greg Lestrade. And I love you."

Greg covered the inches and kissed his lover again, deepening the kiss when he dug his hands in John's short hair and pulled him down. 

"You're not angry?" He asked.

"It was me or your children." John stroked Greg's hair again. "I don't have any children of my own and my family and I don't have the best of relationships… but I don't blame you. Not at all, Greg."

"Move in with me?" he whispered huskily. "You already have a key and you practically lived here before."

John gave him gentle kisses in between words, "Sherlock… will... go... on… a… tirade." 

"Bugger Sherlock. He'll survive." 

"I know." John smiled as he fitted nicely against his lover's form. "I'll tell him in the morning."

Together they lay on the sofa, caressing, kissing, talking, laughing; getting to know one another once more. Their world was whole again.

**Author's Note:**

> * Kudos are amazing and I will never stop asking for them, but getting comments, actual feedback from readers means so much. Taking five seconds out of your time can really make my day.
>   
> 
> * You can follow me on [tumblr](http://mm8fic.tumblr.com/).
>   
> 


End file.
